


E Lawe A Mālama (To Take and Keep)

by TetrodotoxinB



Series: Bad Things Bingo 2018 [9]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Square filled: the collector, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 20:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15848781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TetrodotoxinB/pseuds/TetrodotoxinB
Summary: Steve has always found reviewing traffic cam footage to be tedious, but when it takes a week to get a single sighting of their perp’s car he’s starting to fray a little around the edges. It doesn't help him keep his composure when one of the missing is Kono.





	E Lawe A Mālama (To Take and Keep)

**Author's Note:**

> Created for Bad Things Happen Bingo. Square filled: The Collector.
> 
> Also, google translate sucks and will take you on a trip with Hawaiian. Just.... take it at face value.

Steve has always found reviewing traffic cam footage to be tedious, but when it takes a week to get a single sighting of their perp’s car he’s starting to fray a little around the edges. Kono had read them the plates on the car and then the line went dead. What became of her phone they never figured out — either it was destroyed or her abductor took the SIM card out and dumped it— but all they found at the scene was her car.

But now one of the uniforms on their endless rotation of traffic cam monitors is shouting into the bullpen that there’s a sighting in Kahili Kai. Steve’s hope surges just long enough to be squashed when he sees that the car has dropped a large black plastic bag in a dumpster. 

He reminds himself that there’s no way that Kono’s in that bag — it wasn’t heavy enough, and the plastic wouldn’t hold her weight. His panic doesn’t make sense, he reminds himself. But Danny and Lou, and Chin most of all, can’t keep the fear off their faces.

“Mount up,” Steve orders, and around him everything explodes into action.

Patrol cars in the area beat them to the scene, but no one goes near the dumpster. 5-0’s proprietary attachment to one another is legendary, and no matter personal grudges or opinions, no one from HPD or any other jurisdiction is stupid enough to get in 5-0’s way when one of their own is on the line. 

Chain of evidence be damned, Steve barely takes time to pull on gloves before he vaults into the dumpster. He heaves out several bags before finding the one he wants. It’s lightweight enough that there’s definitely not a body in the bag, but that’s all he can be sure of. With determination and the tactical knife from his boot, Steve slits the bag open and dumps the contents onto the hood of the Camaro. It’s a testament to the seriousness of the situation that Danny says nothing about admissibility of the evidence in court or about the hood of his car. 

It’s Kono’s clothes, her badge still attached to the band of her pants. Everything was cut away, not just taken off, but there’s no blood on any of it, nothing to evidence a struggle. Part of him is relieved because there’s no indication that she’s been injured, though the absence of a positive is hardly the same as a negative. But with the same breath he feels a lump in his throat. The FBI profiler had mentioned drugs — sedatives, something to pacify, to render his victims compliant. Steve doesn’t want to think about Kono being drugged like that because he _knows_ what that’s like. So even though this gives him reason to think she’s still alive, it’s still not looking “good.” 

Steve blames himself. They had been so harried — seven women in seven days — and they were desperate to follow as many leads as they could at once. But sending Kono out to follow-up alone had been irresponsible and now she was paying the price for his lapse in judgment. 

 

The perp’s source material, some little known paperback that had primarily circulated the islands’ native population in the 70s, revolved around a group of seemingly innocuous native women who managed to swindle white plantation owners out of their money, land, and eventually sanity. Steve has to admit he likes the characters’ chutzpah — having read the book for the case — but where he appreciates, someone else seems to take a dimmer view. 

In hindsight, it seems only obvious that Kono would be a prime target. Kono, like the women in the book, is a strong woman who’s dedicated to her community and to making it just. While the other victims had, to some degree, all fit that description — free clinic coordinator, preschool teacher, social worker, native rights activist — Kono had fit it best. 

And now eight Hawaiian women were missing, counting Kono. The book ended with them — four maids, three cooks, and a wet nurse — saving their indigenous community from the grips of colonists. It was a happily ever after for the protagonists, and given the intended audience it was smart writing. But not everyone took kindly to the portrayal of the white plantation owners — namely said white plantation owners. But offense or not, there wasn’t much to be done as no one was ever explicitly named in the story and the book only got one printing. Still, it made enemies.

Obviously their perp was one of those enemies as their guy seemed to be taking it pretty personally, though why was anyone’s guess. The plate number Kono had given them had pulled up the name Mark Harris. The credit info they pulled for him was eclectic but uninteresting, but the “Wall of Crazy,” as Danny had called it, painted a much more unnerving picture. But other than the disconcerting basement collage project, the perp’s house was empty — assuming that Mark Harris was actually their perp and not just another victim, killed for his identity and resources. 

A profiler from Navy intel had come down to help sift through the news articles, scribbled notecards, pictures, and blown up photocopies of passages from the book that covered every inch of the basement wall from one corner to the other. But even after days of study it didn’t mean a whole damn lot to anyone, though Steve wished he could unhear some of the theories the profiler came up with.

So Steve turns the scraps of Kono’s clothes over again on the hood like he’s hoping that a clue will just fall out of her pocket. He wants something — anything — more than what they’ve got to go on. 

“Steve,” Danny says urgently. “Pua just called; they got a visual on our guy.”

“I’m gonna need the car’s location,” Steve shouts as he sweeps the contents of the trash bag, and the trash bag itself, into the large evidence bag Chin hands him. 

“I’m already on it,” Danny says as they climb into the truck.

Chin and Lou are right behind them as they pull onto the highway. 

“Pua says they’re about five miles ahead outside Pearl City, still on the H1,” Danny relays. 

Steve’s earpiece echoes Danny’s words and Lou acknowledges the info. 

“I’ll take 99 and see if I can’t cut them off from the other end,” Lou says as he takes an exit behind them.

“Copy,” Steve barks as he swerves around another car.

He presses the gas pedal to the floor and Danny grabs the center console and the oh-shit bar. Unlike every other time Steve’s driven them in a high-speed pursuit, Danny stays silent, the importance of their mission overriding his characteristic nagging worry about Steve’s erratic driving.

By the time Steve lays eyes on the car in question four squad cars have fallen in around him. The police scanner lets them know that a roadblock is set up a half mile ahead. Traffic around them begins to slow as the cars back up behind the barricades, and the moment the perp rolls to a stop Steve slams the truck into park. He launches himself out the door of the Chevy and sprints off on foot, Danny and seven uniformed officers hot on his heels.

“Mark Harris, get out of the car with your hands on your head!” 

After years of missions and ops, high speed chases and arrests, there isn’t much that makes Steve’s heart pound with anxiety or fear. But standing in the interstate with his weapon pointed at Harris — and it _is_ Harris — Steve can hear the blood rushing in his ears. If this guy moves wrong, if he reaches for something out of sight, if he tries anything at all there’s the risk that one of the now twenty cops surrounding the car will shoot. Steve has no doubt that they will find the missing women one way or another, but without Harris, the time it takes might cost one or more of them their lives. It’s not a chance he’s willing to take. 

“Hold your fire!” he shouts.

The officers hold their ground, but their service pistols stay up. Steve nods to Danny and together they slowly approach the car. 

“Mark Harris!” Steve calls again. 

The man’s hands are still on the steering wheel when Steve gets to the driver’s side door. Danny is on the other side peering in the window, his gun held out in front of him.

“Hey, pal,” Danny says casually, as though he isn’t wearing body armor and pointing at weapon at the guy, “think you can step out of the car?”

Steve opens the door from the outside and Harris very sedately climbs out. While Danny keeps his pistol trained on their perp, Steve holsters his gun and zip-ties his hands together. 

“Come on, pal. We gotta talk.”

*****

Even Danny, who is surprisingly anti-torture for a Jersey cop, seems to have no compunction about Steve’s plans for coercing Harris into giving up the location of the missing women. But Danny’s willingness to allow drastic measures proves unnecessary because Harris spills the moment he’s in the hot seat. Steve almost regrets not having a reason to dangle the bastard off the roof of Iolani Palace as he writes down the step-by-step instructions for entry into the AirBnB Harris has been holed up in with the missing women.

But Harris’ forthcoming demeanor doesn’t mean that anyone is taking chances as they surround the house. Steve waves two fingers left and then right, and two groups of four SWAT guys break off to circle around the house in either direction. As he turns the key in the front door and then punches in the security code, the fear of a trap makes Steve’s stomach knot up. 

But there are no trip wires or claymores, and the lights on the alarm pad blink a pleasant green once Steve’s closed the little plastic flap over the keypad. 

“We’re in,” Steve whispers into the mic on his collar.

Again, Steve motions a pair SWAT officers forward and they clear the living room on their way to the lanai. Steve waits, covering their backs, as they flick open the lock on the sliding glass doors and then the house is crawling with faceless officers in tactical gear. 

While SWAT combs the rest of the house, Steve and the rest of 5-0 make a beeline for the kitchen — Steve and Danny on point, Lou and Chin covering them. Just as Harris had promised, there’s the visible outline of a door in the floor of the pantry. Steve lifts the linoleum and grabs the handle, yanking hard. He only remembers that Harris said it was padlocked when the door rebounds, jarring his wrist and elbow.

“Hey,” Danny says, and Steve looks over to see Danny lifting a key off a nail on the inside of the door casing. 

“Thanks.”

Holstering his gun for a moment, he unlocks the padlock and tosses it on the shelf next to the cereal. Gun back in hand, he lifts the door open.

Steve can feel the presence of the officers that have gathered behind him in the kitchen as he starts down the stairs, but he’s focused on the darkness ahead of him. He positions his flashlight over his pistol and sweeps the room. Startled gasps and a lone sob reply, the sounds muffled in the damp and stale basement air. Behind Steve, Danny flicks a switch and the horror of the room is laid bare with flickering halogen lights. The yellow glare makes the women look years older than the photos provided by families, their skin appearing almost jaundiced where they sit in their cramped cages. 

He breathes through his mouth as he speaks, trying combat the overpowering smell of the room. “I’m Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett and this is Detective Danny Williams. We’re 5-0. You’re all safe now. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

Danny is rummaging around on the workbench on the far wall and Steve sweeps the room one last time looking for Kono. But he doesn’t see her and his stomach drops into his boots. Mechanically, he moves to the first cage in the row, stuffing down the panic, because either way these women need their help. 

The cage is larger than most dog crates, but not by much, and it’s obviously homemade, though not hastily so. Steve’s picking ineffectually at the wiring with his multi-tool when Danny comes up behind him.

“Here,” Danny says, nudging Steve in the shoulder with a pair of wire cutters, another pair in his hands.

The cage is significantly easier to break open once the wires at the corners are snipped. He and Danny help the women to the stairs, and strong hands reach down to steady the victims as they stagger up the steps, their legs weak and wobbly after days of captivity and inactivity.

Steve keels down in the front of the fifth cage, four women already gone up and out of the basement dungeon, and begins to snip. Danny is speaking softly with the woman in the last cage in the row where he’s working to free her.

“Hey, boss.”

Steve barely hears it at first, all of his focus on the wire cutters, but it hits him a second later and his head jerks up.

“Kono.”

He had looked for her the moment he set in the foot in the basement, but dressed like a maid, her hair braided back out of her face and covered with a bonnet, Steve had passed right over her. Danny must have missed her too, because Steve sees him still out of the corner of his eye, his head turning to look even as he keeps his grip on the woman in front of him. Steve tries to school his face, to cover the panicked surprise of seeing her that he knows has to be plain for her to see. But Kono just smiles gently, like she hasn’t been to hell and back in the last seven days, like Steve isn’t having a minor freakout right in front of her.

He shakes himself out of the momentary stupor and makes quick work of the wiring, while Danny goes back to his hushed conversation. Steve rips the front of the cage off with maybe a little more force necessary and pulls Kono out. He notices, as he holds her hand in his, that her fingernails are torn and jagged well past the quick, and it doesn’t take a detective to know that she did it picking at the wires in her cage.

Like the others, she stumbles as she tries to stand, but Steve hesitates to hold her close the way he wants, unsure of what’s been done to her and whether or not she would welcome it. But Kono only hesitates for a second before she lets herself fall forward onto Steve, her hands tightly gripping the fabric of his shirt where his kevlar vest doesn’t cover his shoulders. 

Permission given, Steve wraps her up as tight as he dares, tucking her head under his chin. He swallows against the lump in his throat as she begins shaking, her quiet sobs muffled against his vest. 

“I’ve got you, Kono. I’ve got you. We’ll get this sorted and then you can go home. And if you don’t want to be alone I’ve got a guest room, and you can stay there as long as you like. Danny practically lives on the sofa anyway. Chin can crash on the blow up mattress if you want, and Lou can come over and we can grill some steaks.”

Kono nods jerkily against him, and Steve’s eyes sting as tears of his own threaten to fall. Beside him, Danny helps another woman to the stairs and then up to her freedom, but even with two women left, Steve can’t make himself move, can’t bring himself to let go of Kono when she doesn’t want to let go of him. 

“Can I get another pair of hands down here?” Danny calls up the stairs, and the answering thud of combat boots on the feeble staircase alerts Steve to one of the SWAT team joining them.

There’s the snipping of wire, the static of radios, and the hushed conversations of Danny and and the other officer, but Steve tunes it out. He closes his eyes and lays his cheek against the top of her head. The fabric of the bonnet is rough, the cotton thread uneven and irregularly woven. It’s uncomfortable just with it against his skin, he can’t imagine how much worse it is to wear. He has to try hard not to think about what the hell could motivate her to keep it on when Harris isn’t there to make her.

Danny lays a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Come on, everyone else is upstairs and CSU needs to get started.”

Steve nods and pulls back from Kono. She stumbles and Steve scoops her up in his arms despite her protests that she could walk if he would just give her a hand. Walking backwards up the stairs, they make their way up and out into the harsh daylight of the kitchen. Kono hisses and ducks her head, her eyes ill-adapted to the light after a week.

“Hey, cuz,” Chin says. He gently strokes his hand over her shoulder and suddenly the quiet crying that had ebbed in the basement grows into deep wracking sobs.

Steve knows the feeling where you walk out of something traumatic. Everything holds together — sometimes for minutes and sometimes for days — until the right word, the right touch, the right _anything_ , upsets the tenuous balance of emotions and then you trip right over the edge into grief without warning. It’s just part of it but she shouldn’t have to go through it in front of half of HPD. Quickly, he hauls her through the kitchen and out the back door to the lanai. The cops out there scatter and Steve sets her down on the lush grass in the shade of a nearby tree. 

Chin sits down beside her and Steve knows that she could use space and the comfort of family. “I’m gonna go help wrap up in there,” he says, hiking a thumb over his shoulder.

The nod Chin gives Steve is heavy with hurt and fear, and it’s the same hurt and fear they’ve all felt all week. But Steve also knows better to than to think that he could hurt for Kono the way her family does. 

Steve breathes his agitation in through his nose and out through his mouth as he tromps down the front steps of the house towards Danny. Danny’s with an older woman, likely Nalani Iosua, who’s wrapped in a shock blanket and sitting in the back of an ambulance. After a few minutes the ambulance she’s in, and three others, pull away from the house. 

“How is she?” Danny asks when he finally makes his way to Steve.

“Chin’s with her,” Steve answers, unsure of what else he could say.

“So not good?”

“She’s strong. She just needs some time,” Steve says. He doesn’t explain the knots that he could feel in Kono’s arms when he carried her, he doesn’t explain what it’s like to detox when you’ve been drugged like that — the way you’re wide open and vulnerable, the way everything is overwhelming and terrifying like on your first day of kindergarten, the way all you want is mom and dad to wrap you up and never let go. He doesn’t give voice to the hundred-and-one other things that he’s reminded of from his own life because that hurts just as much as looking at Kono. But most of all, he tamps down on the voice behind everything else that asks if this is just one too many things in their long history of shared traumas. Everyone eventually cracks with enough pain, and part of him worries about whether or not Kono has hit that point.

Danny puts his hand on the small of Steve’s back and herds him back towards the house so that they can wrap up their portion of the case. CSU is taking over and detectives are en route to the hospital to debrief with the victims. There’s gonna be paperwork for ages but all Steve cares about is getting home so he can set up for the team to crash at his house. 

Steve looks out the sliding glass doors onto the lanai just in time to see Chin helping the paramedics lead Kono around the side of the house. Beside him Danny shifts and Steve looks over to see him watching Kono too, his expression dark and shuttered. They’ve all taken a hit on this case, Steve just hopes that it’s one that can be healed.


End file.
